Page 39 of Beautiful Scars

“There’s no way in hell I’m—”

“When exactly did this turn into a negotiation?” Cillian asks, his voice right above my head.

I’m in the small bathroom again. He’d dragged me up here, saying he’d left my “outfit” inside.

There’s only a small vanity mirror to cast back my reflection, but even that’s too big.

I’m wearing a short, candy-pink satin dress with a lace bodice. It’s the kind of thing a flower girl would wear. The stockings are too much, even without the pink bow sown to the lacy tops.

The hair ribbons are where I’m drawing the line.

Cillian holds them up high on my head as he stares at my reflection.

“Right there, and not a ball-hair lower,” he says.

Is he… smiling?

I snatch them from his hand and hurriedly divide my hair into two ponytails on either side of my head. I ram the hair ribbons into place and twirl around to face him.

“Happy, Daddy?”

“Now your outfit matches your attitude, brat.” He reaches behind me and jerks down the dress’s zipper. I barely catch the bodice before it falls down my chest.

“Okay, okay!” I fumble with the fabric, bundling it against my breast and turning around. “I’m sorry. Please… just zip me up.”

I don’t like the calculating look he gets in his eyes when I plead with him, like he’s trying to work out why I’m so averse to being naked in front of him. I guess it’s a bit much for him to believe that I’m self-conscious.

He zips me up and then grabs the back of my neck and steers me out of the bathroom.

Why is it that the weirdest part of my day is that I’ve just realized I don’t mind his hand there, guiding me. Well, shoving me pretty much. But he’s not hurting me. Not choking me.

Yet.

Downstairs, he makes me pose on the bed. Thankfully, this outrageous outfit includes a pair of white lace panties, so even when he tells me to hike up my knees and spread my legs, there’s nothing but underwear for him to see.

“Who are you sending this to?” I ask, when he tells me to get on my hands and knees, look at him over my shoulder, and pout.

“I said pout, not frown,” he says. “You’re ruining my shot.”

So, of course, I frown harder. “Who?”

He sighs as he straightens, and lights himself a cigarette. We’ve been at this for at least an hour, so I guess I can’t blame him.

“Let’s just say, they have a special place in their heart for you.”

Revulsion twists my face, and a puff of smoke escapes his lips as he lets out a short chuckle. He smokes his cigarette while I stretch my legs and drink some of the water he brought me.

There was a moment where I almost refused it. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he could have drugged it or something. But posing is thirsty work, and if I’m ever going to get out of here I’ll have to stay hydrated. Who knows how long my flight to freedom will be?

I look down at the water bottle, tasting my mouth.

A memory blooms in my mind.

That’s because of the drugs I put in it.

I was in his apartment. I remember the glass of booze he poured me. Said he’d drugged it.

I quickly lift the bottle to my mouth and take another swallow. Better than Cillian happening to look up and see my hand trembling, right?